


Love Is Like A Flame

by Wildfire1980



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: A broken dragon, Angst and Feels, Banishment, Betrayal, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Heartbreak, Heavy Angst, Love Hurts, My attempt at shining a light on Dany's emotions after this scene, Shout out to 70's music, Takes place after S4 E8, We all know Jorah is responsible for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 18:48:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24431596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildfire1980/pseuds/Wildfire1980
Summary: After Jorah’s initial banishment from Meereen, Daenerys confesses her deepest secret to Missandei.
Relationships: Jorah Mormont/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	Love Is Like A Flame

**Author's Note:**

  * For [salzrand](https://archiveofourown.org/users/salzrand/gifts).



> You guys can blame my recent discussions with Salzrand in the review section of ‘Moments in Time’ for my idea on this one, which is the very reason this story has been gifted to her. It was those conversations that spawned this creation. 
> 
> Not to mention my current binge on music from the 70’s, where one song in particular by Nazareth called, _Love Hurts_ , virtually wrote this story. If you've never heard it, I strongly recommend you check it out.

It was a particularly dark night. 

One that seemed to swallow up the shadows of any movement. 

Darker than dark. 

With no solace of light. 

No moon to bask upon her pale skin. 

Just emptiness. 

A black void. 

That seemed infinite.

Much like the pain seizing her heart. 

Like a hot iron, searing its way into the muscle. 

Burning her in a way she had never experienced before. 

In a way she wasn’t quite accustomed too. 

And even more ill-prepared for. 

For hours, she has been struggling. 

Striving to catch up with the outcome of her present state. 

One that excluded him from her circle. 

Along with the realization, that she never foresaw this moment. 

Not once, had she ever entertained the thought. 

Of what it would feel like to be without him. 

Permanently. 

It was her new norm.

A status, that she will always be endeavoring to embrace. 

And yet, resisting it all the same. 

Forever hoping for a different outcome. 

Where past transgressions were forgotten.

And forgiveness was possible. 

Easily given by the one afflicted. 

A thought that has been her primary muse for the night. 

Other than the offender, himself.

_Why couldn’t she extend that mercy today?_

She was blind-sided by the offense.

Completely undone.

In a way that shatters your belief in humanity. 

Robbing you of the fortitude to entrust your well-being to another person. 

Seeing nothing good coming from it. 

Except more heartbreak. 

He had made her weak. 

And she hated the transparency of that truth. 

How in hindsight, she so blindly allocated that power to him. 

Essentially handing over the keys to break her. 

And break her, he did. 

In a way where solitude becomes your only friend. 

Because only then, are you not beholden to anyone. 

Just the ebb and flow of your own loneliness. 

An ocean she could easily drown in. 

Even welcoming the opportunity. 

Nurturing her self-deprecation even further. 

It was unhealthy, she knew. 

To mourn the past. 

To miss something that you never had. 

To be in love with an illusion. 

A false front. 

And she truly loathed this feeling. 

Hated the thief that it was. 

The internal confliction that came with it.

The way it stole the air from her lungs. 

How even hours later, she was still fighting to breathe. 

To find her way to the surface in a sea of reminiscence.

With memories that only seem to weigh her down. 

Along with the need to forget. 

When all her heart wants to do is remember. 

To remain blind. 

And in a time, when things were still right between them. 

When the fervent looks of pity didn’t exist. 

Only to be returned with a leery eye. 

A caution that was birthed by his recent actions. 

One that made her question everyone’s motive. 

Even Missandei’s. 

And when her handmaiden had found her on the balcony of her apartments.

She was only able to usher one verbal response from her lips. 

“Never betray me.” 

A blatant warning. 

Or perhaps it was a means to stop such a treacherous thought from ever forming. 

Indicating that she wouldn’t be as forgiving to the next person. 

But it was the cracking of her voice.

And the revelation of her current musings, that pulled the curtain back.

Giving Missandei a transparent view behind the mask of her Queen. 

As well as the name of the perpetrator responsible for it. 

A man that wasn’t Daario Naharis. 

Nor her Dothraki Khal. 

But someone who was vastly different in nature.

And someone who had awoken much more than just her wrath. 

“Perhaps it would please Your Grace, if I send for Daario Naharis?”

She shook her head, eyes blankly staring out into the night. 

“He cannot cure what ails me.” 

“Something to help you rest then?” 

“If I sleep, then I will dream.” She reflected, “I don’t want to dream.” 

There was a brief pause. 

“Not of him.” She idly whispered to herself.

“Then allow me to retrieve your robe, Your Grace…to keep away the cold.” 

Daenerys ignored the offer. 

Her Queen was distant. 

Distracted.

And haunted by more than what she was willing to reveal. 

Or so she thought.

“He wounded me deeply.” 

Her voice sounded so detached. 

Indifferent and cold. 

“A mistake that I will not repeat.” 

“If Your Grace wishes to discuss –” 

“I don’t.” Daenerys interrupts, “I never wish to speak of him again.” 

“Then you wish to forget?”

“No…” She answers a little too hastily, and then just as quickly corrects her blunder. “Yes!” 

She was conflicted. 

Unsure. 

Lost. 

And trying desperately to convince herself that she was none of the above. 

All the telltale signs of a broken heart.

 _‘You love him?’_ Missandei thought.

Daenerys’ back stiffens and a wry smile begins to form. 

Her eyes shift down, her hands gently smoothing over the cement railings of her terrace. 

As if desperate to ground her raging emotions. 

To stop the electric current of grief that keeps coursing through her body, shocking her heart with one strike after another. 

Missandei watches, as she slowly turns her head to the side, with a brief, acknowledging glance over her shoulder. 

And for a moment, she begins to fear that she spoke the offensive thought aloud. 

But then Daenerys’ body relaxes. 

Releasing all of that coiled-up tension in one, hard, slow exhale.

Like someone surrendering themselves over to a truth they never dared to speak aloud. 

At least, not until now.

“I love him.”


End file.
